One Touch of Magic by Amanda Mccabe

everyone searched for their places, and flirtatious shrieks and giggles. It was obvious that some people had been imbibing more than tea in there.
    Sarah wished that she had some of whatever spirits those had been.
    Mary Ann came up to her side, and took her hand. “Here you are, Sarah! I feared you had gone off back home.”
    Sarah smiled at her. “I could scarcely leave you, now could I? I just came out here for some fresh air.”
    “I talked to Lord Dunston’s granddaughter, Miss Milton, in the drawing room. She enjoys novels, too. Would it be all right if I just sat and talked with her while you play cards? I am such an absolute fool when it comes to cards.”
    That was all too true, Sarah thought. For such a smart girl, Mary Ann just never could seem to remember if the ace was high or low. “Of course, dear. Just do not go wandering off anywhere.”
    As soon as Mary Ann hurried off with her new friend, Mrs. Browning took her place. “Lady Iverson, could you make up a whist table with my son, and Mrs. Hamilton, and Lord Dunston? Miles is the only one without a partner.”
    Sarah glanced past her to see Lord Ransome standing beside a table, with Mrs. Hamilton chattering away beside him. He nodded politely at whatever she was saying, but he watched Sarah and his mother. When she caught his eye, he gave her a faint, almost pleading smile.
    And her flutters came right back onto her.
    “Of course, Mrs. Browning,” she said, careful to keep her expression politely blank. “I would be happy to.”

    “Oh, dear, Lord Dunston! Never say I have made us lose again,” Mrs. Hamilton cried. She tilted her golden-curled head, her face the very picture of consternation.
    “Of course not, Mrs. Hamilton,” Lord Dunston said gallantly. “My fault entirely.”
    Miles grinned at them. What a most diverting evening it had been, he thought, much more than he had imagined it would be when his mother was planning everything out. He had actually enjoyed himself, and ceased to look about for his uncle whenever someone called him “Lord Ransome.” It had been—enjoyable.
    And that was mostly due to the fact that Lady Iverson was next to him for a good deal of the evening. Supper had moved quickly, as he looked at her, at the way her hair gleamed in the candlelight, the animation on her face when she spoke of the Vikings. When she left the dining room, a great deal of the light and air seemed to depart with her, leaving the evening dull and dry, full of masculine talk of politics and port.
    He glanced at her now, sitting across from him at the whist table. She laughed good-naturedly at Mrs. Hamilton’s and Lord Dunston’s words, and folded her own cards in her hands. “Or perhaps we won because Lord Ransome is such a superior cardplayer?” she said.
    “He is certainly that,” Lord Dunston agreed.
    Lady Iverson smiled across the table at Miles, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Her cheeks were flushed with the pleasure of the game, and her wariness had yet to return. She looked relaxed and happy.
    Miles wished things could always be just like this. But, of course, they could not; all he could do was enjoy this very moment.
    “Where did you learn to play cards so skillfully, Lord Ransome?” she asked. A footman stopped to offer her a glass of sherry from his tray, and she took it and sipped at it. The pinkness in her cheeks brightened and warmed.
    Miles found it difficult to concentrate on her question, as he watched her sun-touched throat move when she swallowed. The tiny pulse at the base of her neck fluttered.
    He looked back down at the table, at the scattered cards, and reached for his own snifter of brandy. He took a deep drink of it.
    “Evenings were long and dull on the Peninsula,” he answered. “Cards were often all that lay between us and going mad with boredom. So I became quite adept.”
    Lady Iverson gave him a sympathetic smile.
    Mrs. Hamilton squeaked. “Oh, poor Lord Ransome! How perfectly fearful. You